lord gregory
o mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,
and loud the tempest's roar;
a waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,
lord gregory, ope thy door.
an exile frae her father's ha',
and a' for loving thee;
at least some pity on me shaw,
if love it may na be.
lord gregory, mind'st thou not the grove
by bonie irwine side,
where first i own'd that virgin love
i lang, lang had denied.